


Every Hollow Has Its Favorite Sound

by chinesebakery



Series: Season 4 Coda Challenge [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (???), Angst, Coda, Coda Challenge @The FitzSimmons Network, Episode Related, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Humor, In the framework, episode 4x15
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: “Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound,” the woman ordered in a voice that was probably meant to be menacing, although her English accent only served to make her sound dreadfully polite.“Or what?” Fitz snorted. “You’ll bludgeon me to death with my own office supplies?”Framework Fitz is rescued/abducted by Daisy and Jemma.  He doesn't put up much of a fight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RaptorLindsay for the beta. The title is from Liz Phair’s “White Chocolate Space Egg”.
> 
> I'm still reeling from last night-- turns out writing is therapeutic. Who knew?

“Did you get everything?” Jemma asked as soon as the metal curtain lifted, just high enough for Daisy to slide underneath.

“Yep, it’s all there, weirdo,” Daisy said as she shoved the bag in Jemma’s arms.

“Thanks.” Jemma nodded sharply as she rummaged through. To her credit, Daisy had only expressed minor skepticism at Jemma’s request up until now. Normality had become extremely relative to the both of them.

“Mind if I take your good chair?” Daisy quipped as she dropped down on the crate next to her. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture in the storage space Jemma’d been living in. There wasn’t much in the way of anything– a change of clothes, some half-filled notebooks, a few empty water bottles. It wasn’t as if she intended to make herself at home.

After unpacking the supplies, Jemma immediately got to work with clinical precision. The pesto aioli wasn’t homemade, the prosciutto not even di Parma– something Fitz would have lamented endlessly if things were any different– but it would have to do. How long had it been since she’d done anything so mundane for him? Months, probably. Their schedules hadn’t allowed for much domesticity.

There was no rationality to this but the odds that they would all make it out alive were what they were, and she felt as if she _must_ do this one little thing for him, perhaps for the last time.

“If there’s anything I know for a fact at this point,” Jemma said as she wrapped up the sandwich and shoved it in her backpack, “it’s that Fitz loves his food in every universe.”

Daisy grabbed her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “It’s not the _only_ thing.”

Her voice was soft and certain, and Jemma immediately felt the anguish threaten to rise and choke her. It was _exhausting_ , keeping her focus, pushing every bit of non-essential information to the periphery of her mind.

“Right.” She let out a bitter chuckle. It wasn’t _her_ Fitz she’d watched from afar, strolling around hand in hand with his girlfriend, the massive rock adorning her ring finger catching the light with each step she took. She knew it. Her _brain_ knew it. But her gut still clenched and twisted every time she failed to block it away.

It wasn’t _her_ Fitz who twisted and cried in pain as she stabbed him again and again, either. Her brain might know that, but it didn’t make a bloody difference to the rest of her.

“How are you holding up? With– everything?” she asked with a shaky sigh, hoping Daisy couldn’t tell she was _this_ close to losing it again. Not today. Not now. They had too much to do.

“I’m fine,” Daisy shrugged, her detached tone not even remotely convincing. “But this plan better work, ‘cause I can only pretend so many migraines in a row.”

Her smirk was sour and Jemma winced in sympathy. Her own situation might not be ideal, but at least she didn’t have to sleep next to Ward every night. She didn’t have to smile as she asked how his day went over at Hydra’s headquarters when what she really wanted to do was to quake him into oblivion.

They were mostly silent as they went over the plan one last time. By now they knew Fitz Tower’s layout by heart– every corner, every ventilation pipe, every security camera, each and any potential way out. Fitz’s office was on the top floor, which was highly inconvenient, but Daisy had unearthed a keycard to the service elevator. It all came down to whether Jemma could convince him to follow her before anyone noticed the security feed had been hacked into.

“Ready?” Daisy’s voice was all steely resolve and fearlessness, but they had no backups, no comms, no one looking out for them this time. If they failed today… there would be no do over.

Jemma gritted her teeth and swung her backpack on. “Let’s go.”

***

Leo had been pondering various lunch options for a solid half hour, but he just couldn’t make up his mind. Lunch hour often turned out to be the best part of his day. It was the only meal he took alone, and he relished those few moments of solitude. It helped him to think, to keep his head clear, and it didn’t hurt that he could elect to eat whatever he liked without anyone lecturing him about his poor diet. Lately, though, he found even his favorite places rather… unappealing. It wasn’t just about food, either– a sense of general dissatisfaction was settling over everything he’d once enjoyed, and he couldn’t explain it to himself.

As the head of the R&D department in his father’s staggeringly successful company, he enjoyed a spacious corner office at the top floor of Fitz Tower– the view from his floor-to-ceiling window really was something. He was making a _very_ comfortable living, as evidenced by his own chauffeur, designer suits and custom-made shoes. In just a few months, he would be married to a woman who possessed every desirable quality in the world they lived in– even Fitz’s hard-to-please father was overjoyed to welcome an on-demand Hydra specialist into the family.

If only he could summon some semblance of enthusiasm about all of it. _Any_ of it.

Everything was going fine. Everything was going great. If only he could shake the feeling that something was not quite right. That there was… _more_.

He liked supervising other engineers just fine, but not as much as he enjoyed building things with his own hands. And he was happy enough with Agnes, although their relationship wasn’t quite the astonishing great love he’d hoped to find someday– but then again, he’d always been ridiculously, shamefully romantic. Even his bloody car was becoming a source of frustration– he often caught himself wishing he could drive the damn thing himself– otherwise, what was the point of owning such a luxurious vehicle?

He was about to randomly pick a place and be done with it before his train of thought descended any further into discontent when he first heard the sound coming from the wall– from inside the wall. It was too loud to be a rodent, not obnoxious enough to be maintenance, and it was steadily coming closer.

Suddenly, it stopped, but only for a minute. With a clanking noise, the air vent grid fell off. It felt as if Fitz’s eyes were deceiving him, but no– a small-framed woman really was crawling out of the vent and into his office.

“Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound,” the woman ordered in a voice that was probably meant to be menacing, although her English accent only served to make her sound dreadfully polite.

“Or what?” Fitz snorted. “You’ll bludgeon me to death with my own office supplies?”

“You’d be surprised.” The woman pulled back the hoodie so she could properly glare at him and his first look at her face sucked the air right out of him.

He didn’t know what he’s been expecting, exactly. It shouldn’t be particularly surprising that she was so pretty– if you went around breaking into people’s offices, you might as well maximise your chances to talk your way out of a jail cell. Her eyes were a striking amber, her features delicate and undeniably attractive.

Before he could make a fool of himself, her eyes narrowed, her face turning into a grimace of distaste that instantly put him on the defensive.

“What?” he asked, bracing for the worst.

“Your hair looks _terrible_ ,” she said, as if they were old friends, as if she, a complete stranger who’d just broken into his office, had a say in his personal grooming habits. 

“You don’t look so good yourself!” Fitz scoffed in outrage, waving in her general direction. She was beautiful, alright, but she was a mess– her ponytail was in disarray, she was covered with dirty smears, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“I’ve had better days,” she conceded with a shrug, as her eyes clouded with heavy emotions, and Fitz cursed himself.

“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing in my office?” he asked softly, and took a very cautious step in her direction.

She seemed to be considering an answer when her watch gave a loud beep, and in an instant, her guard was back up.

“We don’t have much time,” she said decisively. “You need to come with me.”

“I need to– _I beg your pardon?_ ”

“Come with me if you want to live,” she said again, with more urgency this time, and she held out her hand to him.

It was insane. It was reckless. He would probably come to regret it in 30 seconds or less. But there was _something_ about this woman– something that made him want to trust her. Clearly she was unwell, and he felt an irrational urge to help her. And as it turned out, Terminator II had been his favorite movie growing up.

He looked around at his perfect office– the solid wood desk, the leather couch, the abstract paintings that did nothing for him– and determined there wasn’t anything he would miss if he ran away for a couple of days. Or even a week.

“I’m Leopold. Leopold Fitz. You can call me Leo.” He didn’t miss the way her face contorted in pain, even though it lasted only for a moment.

“Simmons,” she replied after a beat, her voice all cold and steel.

“Just Simmons?”

Her watch gave another beep, longer this time, and he would have sworn he could feel desperation radiating from her, her amber eyes shining with worry, and he found it acutely upsetting to watch.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”

She shook her head. “I could never hurt you, Leo,” she said, and her voice caught on his name.

Without a word, he took her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but apparently I still have a truckload of feelings to unpack. I don't know if or when this will be continued. I'm still... processing.  
> Thanks again to RaptorLindsay for beta-reading.

"I can tell you're laughing at me, you know?" Fitz halted his pacing around the unremarkable motel room to shoot Daisy a glare. "Could you please make her stop?" he demanded in a displeased huff before resuming his shuffling along the faded carpet.

"The first thing you should know about me, _Leopold_ , is that _no one_ makes me do _anything_ anymore," Daisy said, sitting a little straighter in the beaten armchair as her smirk faded and her hands clenched on the armrest.

In her defense, she'd really been doing her best to hold in her derisive snicker. This Fitz, the one that lived in a fantasy world that was all glittery paint over decaying foundations, took more than a little getting-used-to.

It wasn't just the horrid hair, the three piece suit, the way he held his head or even the pinch in his voice when he was unsatisfied, which was apparently _all the time_ – it was the sheer arrogance of the man. _Their_ Fitz took pride in his designs, in the workings of his brilliant mind, in his actual achievements, but this one was just plain proud, and it was almost comically unnerving.

"I know this is a lot to take in," Jemma offered with all the sympathy she could muster. "But we're telling you the truth."

Fitz– _Leo_ , she reminded herself with a grimace– turned back to her, his gaze curious. Since they'd locked themselves in this room together, Jemma had caught a flicker of awareness in his eye a number of times. It was enough to make her blood buzz with excitement, only to send her hopes crashing to the ground each time the fleeting spark went out.

"Who am I to you?" he asked pensively. "Over there, in that… 'real world' of yours," he air-quoted.

 _Everything_. It was the only word she could think of, and it was only barely touching the truth of the matter.

She'd known the question would come, and she'd been trying to brace for it, to steel herself against it. As much as she was dying to pretend he was hers, to let him know how much she missed him, she couldn't tell _him_ – this ghost of him. Just like she hated that an emotionless machine had been the first to mention marriage to her, she couldn't bear the thought that this infuriating understudy might be the one to hear all the things she was dying to say.

Once they were together again, though– she was determined to tell him, at length, every bloody day.

"We were… colleagues," she choked out instead.

Fitz's eyebrows shot up in disbelief as a corner of his mouth turned up. "You went through all this trouble for a co-worker?"

"We were doing important work," Jemma insisted, wringing her hands together. "Making the world better. Safer."

For a moment, she thought she saw another glimmer of recognition, but it was immediately replaced with an air of smugness. Fitz puffed his chest in a posture that seemed absurdly outlandish on his familiar frame.

"You're in love with me, aren't you?" he asked, his voice turning sly.

Jemma _laughed_. There was nothing else she could do. It was a bitter, joyless bark of a laugh, brimming with all the despair and resentment she'd stored up over the past days. Fitz, her Fitz, would never be this flippant. He didn't take her affection for granted.

"Want me to quake him in the groin?" Daisy offered, the thin layer of humor in her voice laced with genuine upset on Jemma's behalf. "Believe me, I'd be happy to oblige."

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, his features turning into a sneer. "Are you sure you're not androids from the future? That would explain a few things."

It was a joke, Jemma knew, and it was her own bloody fault for using his weakness for T2 against him in the first place, but _damn_ , it hurt, and it made her eyes burn.

"O-kay, I've had enough of you," Daisy declared. She jumped to her feet and shoved a duffle bag full of Ward's belongings in his arms. "Time to put on your big boy jammies and call it a day. Don't forget to brush."

"It's barely 7pm. And I'm _hungry_. It's bad policy to let your hostage starve," Fitz pointed out whiningly. He glanced at Jemma, his eyebrow angling upward into the imploring expression she'd seen hundreds of times before. "Would you have happened to pack another sandwich, by any chance?"

Daisy ruefully shook her head before she dropped back into the armchair. "For the record, _you_ were the one who wanted to rescue him first."

***

Fitz leaned against the bathroom door, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing deep, as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened since Simmons had convinced him to follow her a few hours ago.

This was _not_ the way his day was supposed to go.

Regretfully, he couldn't blame anyone but himself– he was the one who'd willingly climbed into the air vent and broken out of his own office building with a woman he'd never met before. It was without a doubt the most spectacularly foolish thing he'd ever done in his life, and he couldn't even explain it.

A dozen times, he'd almost up and left. Neither woman was armed, as far as he could tell. It would be easy. Hell, he could do it right now– the bathroom window was large enough for him to fit through. It would be the first smart move he made since he'd first laid eyes on Simmons.

It was all her fault. Not only did he feel compelled to obey everything she said, but whenever she looked at him with those sad doe eyes of hers, he blurted out the dumbest thing that passed through his mind. When her eyes shone with unshed tears, he wanted to protect her. To comfort her.

Perhaps she was one of _them_ – an Inhuman, putting him under sway. But Inhumans were malicious and deceitful, and Simmons was an appalling liar. Whatever they'd been, whatever he'd meant to her, he was damn sure they weren't simply colleagues.

Fitz glanced out the window– the sun was setting and it would soon be dark. They'd made him leave his cellphone behind, but it wouldn't be difficult to have someone call home on his behalf. His name meant something around here, and his face had been in the papers more than a few times.

But if he escaped now, what would happen to Simmons? Best case scenario, she'd be arrested– his father would see to that. And if she really was an Inhuman… then she'd be surrendered to Hydra and neutralized, simple as that. He couldn't let that happen. Couldn't even risk it.

He'd gone this far.

Might as well see it through.


	3. Chapter 3

"How long do you think we have left?" Daisy asked, her voice tight, as she held out the half-empty pretzel bag.

Jemma had never in her life pined for pancakes more strongly than she did right now, but their breakfast options were limited to the contents of the nearest vending machine. Outside, the sun was rising in a cloudless sky. She wondered idly if it ever rained in this world.

"It's hard to say," she admitted, cradling her cup of tea in her hands. "With continuous, full range of motion physical therapy and limited exposure to viruses and pathogens, patients who were in a coma for years have been known to make a full recovery. But without proper care… it could be a few months before our bodies shut down. And there's no telling the effect of this kind of constant artificial stimulation on the brain either, not for such extended periods of time. Even in the short-term--"

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have asked," Daisy grunted around another mouthful.

"We don't even know how much time has elapsed in the real world. If this is like a dream, our brains might be skipping through everything it deems non-essential, for efficiency's sake."

Daisy's frown turned into a grimace of confusion. "If my brain is pressing the fast-forward button whenever it gets bored, how are we still in sync?"

"I don't know." Jemma huffed an impatient sigh. "Who's to say we're even experiencing the same thing? We've hacked our way into a virtual plane of reality that's been hijacked by a demented android using ancient dark magic, so… this is as unprecedented as it gets. None of the normal rules apply."

"So, the good news is that our brains are probably frying, but at a slower rate than it feels to us now."

"Essentially, yes," Jemma nodded sharply, turning to glance at Fitz's sleeping form on the couch. From where she was sitting, she could make out the rising and falling of his chest with each breath. In spite of herself, she longed to place her hand over his heart to feel the steady, comforting beat, just like she always did when she woke up before him in the bed that they shared. "We need to get him out," she muttered past the tightening in her throat.

"We will," Daisy promised, earnest and unflinching, and Jemma felt a fierce gust of affection for her unyielding friend. She knew it could only be the _real_ Daisy sitting cross-legged on the bed next to her, munching on pretzels as if there were no tomorrow-- if only because Jemma couldn't conjure that kind strength out of thin air.

"I thought-- I _hoped_ he would remember by now. That it would be easier, somehow," she admitted with a choked out laugh. "As if anything ever is."

She felt foolish now for ever thinking that the sight of her-- the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand-- would be enough to bring him back. She was buried too deep in his consciousness. Inaccessible. And she couldn't help resenting him for it, too-- how could he not remember her when every last one of her brain cells yearned to restore their connection?

"Maybe he needs something a little more… hands on. I'm thinking Sleeping Beauty… only, you know-- the _adult_ version," Daisy suggested, the corner of her mouth lifting into a mirthful smirk.

Jemma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Daisy..."

"Come _on_. Don't tell me you haven't considered it. Even _I’m_ curious, and the thought of you two doing sexy sex stuff together makes me want to throw up."

"This is one mystery that shall remain unexplored," Jemma replied primly, biting her lip to stop herself from smiling back.

"Now, now, Simmons, think about it," Daisy insisted, her grin growing wider. "You would be doing it with just your _brains_. Isn't it like the ultimate nerdgasm for you weirdos? I'd totally go there if I were you. For _science_."

"Eat your bloody pretzels and leave me alone," she ordered as sternly as she could. But her attempt at austerity wasn't at all convincing, and she was once more grateful to her friend for distracting her when she so badly needed it.

***

He was _blushing_. He was certain of it-- hell, he could _feel_ it. His neck, his face, even his ears were burning, and the vein in his neck pulsed along with his accelerated heartbeat.

Fitz couldn't even remember the last time he'd blushed. It must have been years. His father had taught him to be self-confident in all situations-- or he'd tried to anyway. In the end, Fitz had learned to fake it, and it had been enough.

His suspicions that he and Simmons-- _Jemma_ \-- were much more than coworkers in that alleged alternate universe of hers were now confirmed. It wasn't a surprise. He'd known that, deep down. He'd always known.

Was it possible to be jealous of yourself? Because that's what he suspected he was feeling now-- it was all so confusing. She remembered him. Remembered being _with_ him and he could… he could almost picture it. Her cold hands slipping under his shirt, pushing it off his shoulder. Her giddy smile at his lame joke meant to cover the embarrassingly frantic beat of his heart. The taste of her kisses as she backed him up toward the bed.

She _wanted_ him to remember, and Christ, he wished he did, too.

"He's awake," he heard Daisy mutter, and he instantly felt guilty-- as if he'd been caught thinking thoughts he had no business thinking.

"Huh, hi. Hello. Morning." He sat up, feeling intensely self-conscious, remembering too late that the pajama top they'd made him wear was a good two sizes too large. It hung loosely from his neck, making him look like a boy trying on his father's clothes.

"Would you like some tea?" Jemma asked. Her voice was mild, but her cheeks were pink and she looked as flustered as he felt.

"Erm, yes, that would be-- please?"

If his father could see him now, he would disown him on the spot.

When he came back from the bathroom a few minutes later and she handed him a steaming mug, their fingers touched briefly and there it was again-- that spark he'd felt when he'd first took her hand. He'd never felt anything like it before.

"Cream, three sugars," she said confidently, and he froze on the spot. She had no way of knowing that's how he prefered his tea. Not even if she’d been stalking him: he didn't drink it like that-- 'like a child's drink'-- anymore.

"Thanks," he finally muttered, and stepped away from her to lean into the bathroom door. It was easier to think with a little distance between them.

"So," he asked after taking a sip of delicious, sugary tea. "What's the plan?"

Jemma and Daisy exchanged a long, stern look, and he felt himself deflate.

"Come on," he sighed. "You brought me here. You must have some sort of plan."

"This virtual reality we've told you about," Daisy started, "we need you to shut it down from the inside. To infect the code and kick everybody out before you disable it. Permanently."

"Why would you need _me_ to do that? I don't know anything about virtual reality. And you seem to be doing okay. You gamed the Tower's security," he replied, studying Daisy's face intently. There was something familiar about the vulnerability peeking out underneath her bravado.

"Well, I didn't program the Framework," she said somberly. "You did."

 _Of course._ He should have been expecting it. Still, it kicked the wind right out of him and sent blood rushing to his ears. " _I_ programmed it?"

"A rudimentary version of the one we're in now," Jemma amended quietly, her eyes training away from him, "but yes. You did that. You got us all here."

"Damn." Fitz scratched the side of his face as his unease grew to unbearable heights. "I guess I really am John Connor."


End file.
